


The Clash

by LillyMGreen



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillyMGreen/pseuds/LillyMGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anomen Delryn thinks he can teach the Bhaalspawn a thing or two; she has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clash

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted in response to an LJ Kinkmeme prompt so expect smut. There is plot, but it's more scenario than full plot. As usual I wanted to write more but then it would have become like so many other things I write... incomplete! Of course it completely ignores the canon Ano / Charname romance path too.

Yvelle wasn’t sure why she agreed. Perhaps because she suspected he was just trying to be helpful beneath the somewhat pompous and condescending overtones. Perhaps because she knew Sir Keldorn thought it wise.

“You’re very good,” he had said as he watched the pair of them at bladework practice. “You handle a blade with a great deal of skill, but if I may make a suggestion? You really ought to practice against opponents wielding weapons other than swords if you wish to become truly accomplished.”

As they took up their positions for another round she and Keldorn had exchanged knowing smiles, but in her heart she knew the Helmite was right and later the same evening, Keldorn told her that whilst he believed she had improved beyond all recognition he could only teach her so much, so it would prudent to take Anomen up on his suggestion. “You never know, you may be able to teach him something too!” he’d added with a wink. All of which was why she found herself, on a hot and humid afternoon, trekking through the woods with Anomen Delryn in search of a suitable clearing to practise beating the nine hells out of one another.

“This should suffice,” the priest announced as they crested the hill that rose out of the copse they were camped on the lower edge of and found themselves in a wide clearing edged on all sides by mature oak, maple and sycamore trees.

“Aye, Jaheira would think it ideal for a henge,” Yvelle replied whilst she scanned the treeline, checking for anything that might mean it was less than sufficient. Seeing nothing of concern she stood for a moment listening to a birdsong she couldn’t quite identify and peeling away a sliver of bark from a great maple to release the sap beneath.

Anomen marched briskly to the far end of the clearing, placed the haversack he carried against a tree, then marched to the middle of the clearing rolling his shoulders and swinging his mace from hand to hand.

“When you are ready,” he announced, settling into a defensive stance.

Yvelle didn’t reply, instead she readjusted the outsized padding she wore, tucked the strands of hair that had escaped her plait behind ears, slipped her shield over her arm and turned to face him with her longsword stretched out before her,inviting him to attack.

At first neither one of them moved; they stood for a heartbeat, engaged in a battle of wills, then in unison they converged upon each other.

Yvelle dealt with his first blows easily enough; twisting left then right to deflect them with her shield and following them with a lunging attack that slipped wide of him but it was his followup she failed to deal with; as he dodged her blade he swiftly reversed the swing of his mace and struck one end of her sword’s quillon with the haft. The heavy impact dislodged Yvelle’s grip on the weapon and sent it flying from her hand. “Hells!”

As she stooped to retrieve her spilled blade the Helmite placed his boot on it. Yvelle looked up into his face, her head cocked to one side in a challenge.

“You are too enamoured of your own prowess,” he told her, offering her a hand up. As she rose to her feet he pulled her close and looked down at her with a look she couldn’t read before letting go and walking away.

 _That’s rich!_ Yvelle thought, though she swallowed down the urge to say so out loud. Instead, she returned to her starting position and prepared herself for another round. This time she didn’t wait to be invited. She moved swiftly, aiming to strike the Helmite across his torso with a vicious inswing. Anomen deflected the strike and pushed her onto the backfoot but she rushed him again: cutting, parrying and blocking and for a time she held her own but as she drove towards his chest with the point of her blade the priest stepped out of reach and brought his mace downwards over his head two-handed; the mace-head struck the very tip of her sword and the weight of the blow overbalanced the blade against the pommel and sent it sailing end over end from her hand. “Godsdamnit!”

They stared at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, before Yvelle again collected her sword. Once more she saw that unreadable look in Anomen’s eyes and it unsettled her, as did him offering no opinion on how easily he had managed to disarm her again. _What’s going on here?_

This time it was she who barely had chance to prepare for his attack. He made a low swing, aiming to upend her but she saw the move just in time and danced away from his reach. Moving in for her own riposte she mentally ran through all the advice Sir Keldorn had offered. _“Focus. Never let an opponent's game distract you from your goals.”_

And so she focused. At first she watched the weapon in his hands, then his hands themselves: how he held his mace on haft and hilt, made it an extension of his very being. Next she let her focus shift wider: how he held himself, where his balance was perfect, repeated patterns in his movements, how each move lead to the next and she met him swing for swing, pushing the pace, ignoring the burning in her lungs until the metal between them became a blur of silver and spark in the sunlight.

And then she didn’t need to search for these clues and focused instead on his face, his eyes: deepest blue, brilliant and full of intensity and fire and she knew he was seeing her the same way. The heat of exertion seared through her limbs, pushing her on.

Anomen lifted his mace above his head with a clear intention to break her block and Yvelle grabbed her chance. Seeing the Helmite shift his weapon to a downward trajectory, Yvelle drew her blade backwards across her chest and under her left arm, quickly switching her hold on it from the hilt to the ricasso. With her other hand she grabbed the left side of quillon, and with all her might drove her swing upwards until the right side of the cross-guard caught against the underside of the head of his mace and the momentum yanked it free of his grip and sent it tumbling.

Anomen’s eyes widened in shock as rather allow him to concede she continued her attack, pressing home her advantage, charging him with her shield arm braced. He stumbled backwards, his inevitable fall only halted by the trunk of an ancient oak, which he collided with so hard it knocked the breath from him. Still, Yvelle did not relent, she pressed her shield hard against his chest and pushed up pommel of her sword up under his chin.

Then Anomen did something she would never have predicted. As they stood, pressed together, breathing as one, the sweat pouring from their flushed faces, he freed a hand from under her shield and twisted her sword hand so hard she was forced to let go of the blade; then before Yvelle had chance to cry out in protest he grabbed the back of her neck and crashed his sensuous lips to hers.

Whilst his actions shocked her it was her gut reaction that shocked her more. Any anger she felt at his presumptuousness became utterly overwhelmed by undeniable want and rather than swing a punch she worked her arm free of her shield, which fell to the floor between them and grabbed his face, pulling him closer, kissing him open mouthed. There was no art or grace to their kiss, tongues tangled, teeth clashed, lips were bitten; an expression of raw, naked desire. He dragged his lips over her cheek and down her neck, kissing and nipping and grazing her skin with his beard. She buried her face in his hair and inhaled deeply. Soaked with sweat he smelled of the earth and salt and coal tar soap and she couldn’t get enough. Then together they were pulling away the padded armour they wore, working at straps and buckles, parting only to pull it over their heads. And then there was nothing to keep them apart.

With one arm Anomen held her tight against his chest while with his free hand he pushed her tunic up over the curve of her hips before running his gloved hand down her thigh and pushing her legs apart, eliciting an involuntary moan her lips. His fingers sought out intimate places; pulling and tearing at her underlinens - _he’ll replace those!_ \- and then with one swift move he turned her and forced her up against the tree trunk. She felt the gnarled wood bite into the delicate skin at the back of her legs and crumble away as he pushed her upwards, taking her weight, gripping her so tightly she knew there are would be bruises on her thighs. She felt too how aroused he was, barely disguised by his own tunic and she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, opening herself to him and it was all the invitation he needed. Arching his back he pushed into her, groaning deeply and again Yvelle saw that dark expression flicker across his face but this time she understood: hunger and desire and fear and love. _Too late for turning back, Ano._ And as he moved inside her, short and sharp - anything more and they would have fallen - she grabbed the front of his tunic and drew him onto her, pulling him in deeper. The kissed again, their mouths and tongues mimicking the movement of their bodies and rough sensation of his prickly beard on her face and the bark of the tree scratching at her bare flesh as they moved together sent a thrill through Yvelle. She wanted him, wanted to feel consumed by him, overpowered even. She could feel his muscular arms straining to hold her in place and so she tightened her legs about his waist and swept her arms around his back, travelling the lines of taut muscle beneath his clothes and slipped her hands up under his tunic and grabbed his firm backside, urging on his pace. He moved a hand - still gauntleted - out from under her and slid it over her stomach to cup her breast, he circled his thumb over her hardened nipple causing a wave of pleasure to ripple through her and suddenly she felt his entire body tense beneath her and he was uttering guttural words into her mouth that might of have been “Oh, gods!” as he came.

As ecstasy released it’s grip on him, Anomen relaxed his hold on Yvelle, he slumped forward and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily and she had to lower one leg to maintain their balance. They stayed that way for a while, Anomen still inside her and the aftershocks of his climax sending little jolts through her.

“My lady,” Anomen said eventually, his breath ragged, “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what... Never. I- ”

Yvelle shook her head to silence him. “Anomen, don’t spoil it.”

“How do you-”

“If you were about to say you didn’t think you...” she paused for a moment as another aftershock momentarily took her breath away “...you didn’t think you had it in you, don’t,” she said, pushing a shaking hand through his thick chestnut hair.

“My lady, I just did not think it would be this way, our, my, first time. I wasn’t even sure you were interested in me. I was of impression you found me annoying.” He looked at her with eyes wide, and something of a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Yvelle smiled and kissed his swollen lips slowly and deliberately and she sighed softly as another flutter of pleasure ran through her. “I’m glad it was, life is too short for drawn out courtships, Ano, and as our lives are perilous at the best of times I think we should make the most of our what time we do have together; but,” she bit her lip, “if you’ve no wish to do this again I will understand.”

“My lady,” he said with a lascivious grin Yvelle certainly didn’t expect of him, “I would like nothing more than to do this again.”


End file.
